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Pieck fluttered her eyes open with a groan, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. The firelight flickered in the dim room, its glow hazy against the edges of her vision as the blur slowly cleared. The stiffness in her arm registered next—a dull ache, a reminder of the weight she had been holding onto in her sleep. Hange’s form was half-turned, nestled into the crook of her embrace, their breath slow and steady against her collarbone. Pieck exhaled softly, feeling the rise and fall of their chest beneath her fingertips. The world outside was nothing but darkness, a quiet void beyond the windowpane. It had to be 2 AM. Maybe later. Where had the time gone?
She shifted just enough to take them in properly. Firelight danced across their bare skin, painting them in soft, molten hues. Their dark hair spilled across their face, unruly strands curling at their temple, long lashes resting like delicate shadows against their cheeks. Pieck swallowed. That face had always undone her. Their smile—so easy, so unburdened—had a way of making her stomach twist, especially when paired with those warm brown eyes. But to see it now, softened in sleep, shaped by the comfort of her arms… something about it felt wrong. Stolen. Like she had taken it from another life, another version of herself—one that was meant to leave this behind.
This feeling, this unbearable comfort, curled in her chest like fire. It smoldered low in her ribs, warm and intoxicating, but everywhere else, it seared. It licked at her skin, burned at the edges of her resolve, threatened to consume her whole. It had been so long since she had let herself be touched like this—since she had let anyone close enough to hold her without suffering the consequences. The inland taipan, they had called her. No one ever got close without falling victim to its venom. And yet, here Hange was, alive and breathing, wrapped in the arms of something dangerous.
How had she ended up here again? How had she let herself slip, let herself sink into the temptation of their touch?
She had promised—sworn—that last time would be it. That there would be no more chances, no more warnings. But somehow, she kept falling back. It took nothing more than a few honeyed words, spoken in that silvery, lilted timbre of theirs, to make her forget everything. To make her give in all over again.
"Stay," they'd ask, their voice dipping into something tender, something almost pleading. "Just one last time."
Pieck was supposed to be smarter than this. Her mind had always been her strongest weapon—calculating, pragmatic, unclouded by foolish sentiment. She should have known better than to indulge in something so contemptible, an entanglement with anyone, let alone an enemy. And yet, wasn’t it precisely that shrewdness that had allowed her to see Hange for what they truly were? If she hadn’t been so perceptive, so quick to read between the lines, she might have mistaken them for something else—something good. But she wasn’t blind. She knew better. Hange was just like her. A spy. A soldier. A pawn in a game played by men who sat far away from the battlefield.
Hange was brilliant, that much was undeniable. Their mind worked like a steel trap, constantly dissecting, analyzing, unraveling secrets before anyone else even knew there was something to uncover. But Pieck—Pieck had always been just a little sharper. She could see the cracks, the tells, the way truth bent beneath carefully chosen words. And yet, somehow, against all reason, against all logic, her judgment had failed her. She had let herself slip, let herself soften beneath their touch, beneath their voice whispering things that sounded too much like truths she wanted to believe.
She needed an escape. They both did.
The war never ended, not really. Even in the rare moments of quiet, its echoes rattled inside their bones, carving away at whatever remained of the people they used to be. Pieck had spent years following orders, obeying commands, suffocating under the weight of duty. But here—here, in the stolen warmth of another traitor’s arms—she could breathe. Not because she was told to. Not because she was forced to. But because, for once, she wanted to.
One time turned into two. Two into three. It was a pattern, a cycle, something she should have broken long ago. And yet, she kept coming back. Kept folding into their arms, kept letting herself believe in the lie of temporary solace.
But not anymore.
This time, she would go. She had to.
Carefully, she peeled herself away, limbs sluggish with exhaustion, skin still marked by the ghost of their warmth. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the air cold against her bare skin as her burnt, calloused soles met the hardwood floor. Years of battle had left their mark, etching scars deep into her body, numbing her to pain. She had grown accustomed to moving on all fours, her body so used to shifting between forms that sometimes, walking upright felt unnatural.
She exhaled softly, shifting her weight with painstaking caution, careful not to stir the silence. Slowly, she pushed herself up, muscles tensed, ready to slip away unnoticed.
But then—
"Pieck?"
Their voice, drowsy, familiar, and laced with something unspoken, cut through the quiet like a blade. And just like that, she froze.
"Where are you going, dear?"
The words caught in Hange's throat, rasping with sleep, heavy with something Pieck refused to name. She had hoped—prayed—not to hear them. Not now. Not when she had already braced herself to leave. She knew the moment their voice reached her, it would cling to her skin, settle into the space between her ribs, and make her hesitate.
She couldn't afford hesitation.
"Close your eyes, Hange. Go back to sleep," she murmured, her voice devoid of anything but quiet resolve. She didn't dare look at them. If she did, she knew she'd crumble. The pull was always there—an unspoken force, something intangible yet undeniable. But she had to push through it. She had to go.
She allowed herself only a heartbeat of stillness before moving, pulling herself up from the warmth of the bed. The night air bit at her skin, but she didn’t shiver. She always ran hot when she was with Hange, their presence like an ember that burned at her edges. But she couldn't let it faze her. Not now.
"Why are you leaving?"
The question lingered between them, soft yet sharp, cutting through the dark like a blade.
"Had to go before sunrise so no one sees me."
A simple excuse, but she refused to give them anything more. Refused to meet their gaze, because she knew what she’d find there—understanding, longing, something far too dangerous for her to hold onto. They had to have known it was her weak spot.
The rustling of sheets barely reached her ears before she felt warmth near her. Then, a gentle touch—a hand ghosting over her shoulder, hesitant yet deliberate.
"Tell me, Pieck."
She flinched.
The reaction was immediate, instinctive, her body betraying her before her mind even caught up. A rush of cold, a flash of something distant and dark. Without thinking, she shoved them away, the motion desperate, defensive. The air between them grew thick, suffocating, as she stumbled back, an arm crossing over her chest like a shield.
"Don't touch me!"
The words tore from her throat before she could stop them, too raw, too exposed. Her back hit the mirror with a dull thud, the impact rattling through her bones, and she sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself.
It wasn’t them. It wasn’t Hange. But those words—she had heard them before.
A wretched, jagged voice still clung to the edges of her mind, whispering in that sickening tone that made her stomach churn. Even after so many years, the scars never truly healed. They were invisible, but they never faded. She had spent years burying them, shoving them down into the darkest parts of herself, willing them to be forgotten. But some wounds were too deep to forget.
Especially that one.
That one night. That one time when a Marleyan soldier—
No. I don’t want to remember.
The room was silent except for her uneven breathing. When she finally looked up, she found Hange standing still, their expression unreadable, yet full of something Pieck couldn't quite place. Not pity. Not shock. Just—understanding.
They let their hand fall back to their side, not reaching for her again. What could they possibly say to someone who had spent a lifetime hearing only the worst?
Hange had never been in her position. They didn’t pretend to understand the weight she carried, the ghosts that lived inside her. But they also knew better than to force her to explain. That was her burden to bear, her pain to keep locked away. If she ever wanted to speak, if she ever wanted to let it out—Hange would listen. But only if she wanted them to.
They took a careful step forward, slow, measured, making sure not to startle her. But Pieck stepped back.
"I'm—uh—We shouldn't be doing this. It's not safe."
"I never asked for safety, Pieck. Have you forgotten? I'm dangerous, too. A devil, remember?" They chuckled softly to lighten up the mood, but it didn’t do much. So they settled back to being serious.
"You don’t deserve to be kept like a secret." She turned and looked at her reflection, still arms crossed over her chest.
Her hair was a mess, a little lipstick smeared across the outline of her lips. It was a version of her that she wasn’t used to, a snake not known to any world besides the one inside this bedroom— their bedroom. She knew she had to cease these clandestine meetings with Hange. She’s an enemy, for Christ’s sake. The initial plan was to gather information, the one she had initiated and executed on her own. But she never thought it would lead up to this. And as much as she loathed Marley, her Warrior friends didn’t deserve to be betrayed like this. Though for the record, she hadn’t given Hange any vital knowledge about their plans. "I can't do this anymore."
After a little hesitation, Hange walked behind her and draped their shared sheets over the front of Pieck’s chest; she didn’t twitch and welcomed their arms wrapping around her. It felt warm, she felt warm with them— warmer than she would ever experience in all the anguish and cold. They rested their chin in the crook of her neck and let their head fall on her shoulder. "Not even once?"
"Once to you is tenth to me. Tenth in general. Stop trying to convince me, Hange. You know this is bad for both of us. If your fellow Scouts learned about their Commander secretly making love with a Warrior, they would never forgive you for such treachery. And—uhm— me. They’d pass my Titan to the next Warrior Candidate. But not only that, my father would suffer because of my mistake." God, why didn’t you think of that before you involved yourself in this, Pieck? You’ve gone too deep. And Zeke, he’d surely be disappointed and say, ‘That’s unexpected of Pieck-chan.’
"Come back to bed, dear." They closed their eyes. "We can sleep. There is no one else here but you and me. I promise this is the end."
Pensively, she looked at their reflection and with a deep sigh, she gave in. "This is definitely the end?"
"As much of an end as it could be." Hange smiled looking at Pieck in the mirror. They were sure it would be the last. It’s a promise after all, and because they harbored affection for Pieck, they would do everything not to break it. Besides, they were the Commander of the Scouts. They were supposed to be performing their duties, not tangling in sheets with the enemy. This was such a shame for them, too. But they didn’t regret one bit of it.
But then, they saw Pieck giving her a half-grin, tainted with a hint of sadness, but genuine at least. They turned her head to meet her lips before wrapping them both together in cotton and bringing them back to bed.
Pieck believed them, giving her trust to Hange. How convenient was that, to offer a portion of such a delicate and important thing to Pieck— trust— to an enemy? She wanted to ponder her thoughts but she was distracted by Hange’s tender touch. She knew she could keep Hange’s promise. Surely, I could. One last time...just once more.